Let the muse run.
Give her the heady freedom
of an unlatched leash,
to sniff the fragrant, the rotting,
the nearly imperceptible;
snout foraging all,
as curiosity rummages under
the surface of semblance
to reveal veracity.
She will investigate
the ignoble with the ingenuous,
the abhorrent and the enchanting,
the warped alongside the majestic,
as she waves her tail at life,
to imbibe a tale of life.
Then call her back
beneath the rain
from your raptures
and regrets,
so she can blend the wonder,
showering imagery
onto the loam of your garden
when she shakes her misty coat.